Hiding Companions
by I. H. Scribe
Summary: Bruce Wayne and Harry Potter meet while hiding from a reporter and an overly-aggressive mother respectively.


Fandoms: Batman, Harry Potter, Mentions of Green Arrow

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Harry Potter

Prompt: These two have some fun similarities; both famous, rich (if only in Fandom for Harry), and followed excessively by the news. I thought it would be funny to have them continuously running into one another as they tried to escape either reporters or various marriage minded mommas (don't care if mommas are pushing male or female or both).

Prompt Made By: picabone99

Disclaimer: I don't own the following series(es) or any character(s) that follow, and unless _I. H. Scribe_ is listed after _Prompt Made By_ chances are I don't own the idea for this story either.

* * *

**Charity Ball**

* * *

"Mr. Wayne!" the reporter called. Bruce pretended not to hear; he had already spoken with five different reporters and didn't feel like speaking to another so soon afterwards. He slipped into a shadowy corner the same time another man did.

"Oh, hello," the man said. "So who are you hiding from?"

"Reporter. You?"

"Mother."

"Yours?"

"No. She's trying for in-law though. Apparently her daughter would be perfect for me."

"Ah. That kind of mother." The other man shushed him as an older woman walked by them.

"Mr. Potter?" she asked. "Oh, but he was just here a moment ago."

"Mrs. Belvedere!" the reporter that had been chasing after Bruce said. "Could I get a quote?"

"Oh, fine," Mrs. Belvedere said. "Just as soon as I find Mr. Potter."

"Perhaps I can help. I'd like a quote from him too."

The two walked off together, searching for Mr. Potter, which Bruce assumed was the name of his hiding companion. He turned back to talk to him, only to find that he was gone! Bruce didn't see him for the rest of the ball.

* * *

**Museum Gala**

* * *

"Oh, Mr. Wayne!" Mrs. Belvedere said. Bruce ducked into one of the closed off sections of the museum to avoid her. The woman went past.

"Was that Mrs. Belvedere?" a voice asked behind him. Bruce whirled around.

"Mr. Potter. How good to see you again. And yes, it was. Apparently her daughter would be perfect for me too. So, who are you hiding from today?"

"A reporter for me this time. I think it was the one chasing you last time."

"Calling reporters _it_ isn't nice."

"It was either that or bloodthirsty vultures, but Hermione wouldn't let me use that one."

"Girlfriend?"

"Assistant,' Mr. Potter said, nodding his head in her direction. "She's talking with Mr. Fox. I think she may be in love with him."

"He's old enough to be her grandfather," Bruce said. Lucius was talking with a tall, beautiful, young woman with long brown hair that had been pulled back into a bun.

"I don't think she cares."

Bruce turned back to Mr. Potter only to find that the man was gone again. "So that's what that feels like," Bruce muttered.

* * *

**Opera Opening Night**

* * *

Bruce quietly snuck out of the balcony room. The French supermodel that was his date was engrossed in the opera and wouldn't notice he was gone, leaving him with time to go track down that mob enforcer. In the darkened hallway, he bumped into someone else, also exiting their balcony room.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"Mr. Potter. We meet again."

"So we do. I don't know why Hermione insisted I come here. I hate operas."

"Perhaps she is an agent of fate and we are simply meant to be," Bruce teased. Potter snorted.

"You're not my type Mr. Wayne. And even if you were, I wouldn't date someone with that many issues."

"Excuse me? Issues?"

"Mr. Wayne, at night, you dress up like a giant bat and beat the shit out of people," Potter said. "Admittedly, they're very bad people and certainly deserve the beating they get, but you do it dressed as a _giant bat_. That just screams out _I've got lots and lots of issues!_ to me, okay."

Bruce sputtered and began stuttering out questions, but couldn't decide which one to go with, "You, who, how, why? What?"

"Have a nice night, Mr. Wayne," Potter said, entering the balcony room again.

* * *

**Birthday Party**

* * *

While Bruce was sure that Potter had been invited and rsvp'd, he hadn't yet found him. It wasn't until Mrs. Delrook, an older friend of Mrs. Belvedere, started hunting him that Bruce managed to find the elusive man.

Bruce ducked down to hide behind a crowd of people, and then slipped out the ballroom doors. There he found Mr. Potter, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Potter waved at him. Bruce waved back awkwardly.

"Reporter or Mother?"

"Grandmother. You?" Bruce sat down next to him.

"Two reporters and ex-girlfriend's older brother."

"You dated someone with an older brother?"

"I dated someone with six older brothers."

"Are you insane?"

"Well, I didn't think we were going to ever break up, now did I? You think they'd be a bit less pissed at me considering it was her idea to end the relationship. I'm Harry, by the way, Harry Potter. I don't think we've ever been properly introduced."

"Bruce Wayne."

"And Batman, apparently."

"How exactly did you figure that one out?"

"I didn't."

"You what?"

"I didn't," Harry repeated. "The type of armor Batman wears was created in a joint project between our two companies, and I recognized it. I figured either it was you, an employee of your company, or a thief. Mr. Fox certainly wouldn't have kept quiet if it was just a random employee or a thief, and you began sputtering the moment I said it was you."

"Then you didn't know?"

"Not for sure until you confirmed it just now."

"You, you, you sneaky, underhanded, little-!"

"Little!?"

"Harry?" the heard through the ballroom doors.

"That's Hermione. I should go see what she wants. Have fun playing dress up, Mr. Wayne."

"You, but, argh," Bruce said, as Harry reentered the party. "One day, I'm going to punch his face in."

* * *

**Balcony**

* * *

When yet another mobster pointed the finger at the same Potter Industries employee, Bruce decided to confront Harry about it.

Batman landed on the balcony of Harry's apartment. Harry, who had been reading a book just inside, jumped when he knocked on the sliding glass door. Harry opened the door, and Batman gave him his most intimidating glare.

So his grouchiness was perfectly understandable when Harry began laughing.

"Oh. My. God. You. Look. Like. An. Idiot," Harry said between laughs and breaths.

Batman's glare intensified.

So did Harry's laughter.

"We need to talk about one of your employees," Batman growled out. Harry waved him inside, wiping a tear from his eye, still laughing.

* * *

**Yacht Party **

* * *

Harry and Bruce spotted each other and the closet at the same time. Bruce reached it first, slipping in only a half a second before Harry did.

"You know, I figured with it being a yacht party, those old biddies wouldn't be here," Harry grumbled.

"Mrs. Belvedere or Mrs. Delrook?"

"Mrs. Alexander."

"She doesn't have a daughter."

"No, but apparently her son is a wonderful person, and I should be delighted to have him. How about you?"

"That reporter from the Times is back."

"The one that did the funny article about the surfboarding accident?"

"That was a cover," Bruce grumbled. Harry began laughing. "What's so funny?"

"Just imaging the shocked look on people's faces if Batman were to suddenly show up at the beach with swimming trunks on top of his suit and start surfing."

Bruce looked dumbstruck until Harry snorted, setting both of them off laughing.

* * *

**Hospital**

* * *

Alfred had fallen from a ladder. The doctor said he would be fine, but he wanted him to stay overnight because of the concussion at his age. Bruce had stepped out to get a drink from the vending machine. He was on his way back to Alfred's room when he spotted a reporter turning the corner at the other end of the hallway. He quickly entered the supply closet, only to bump into Harry again.

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

"I was coming to see Alfred," Harry said. "How is he?"

"The doctor says he's going to be fine. How do you know Alfred?" Harry gave him a half-irritated, half-amused look.

"Who do you think he calls to commiserate with when you're off gallivanting around dressed as a bat?"

"Big words. You didn't hurt yourself did you? Need me to go get one of those doctors?"

"Prat," Harry said, smacking him in the chest.

"So, why are you in the closet this time?"

"One of the reporters from that rag followed me in here. I only just got away."

"Yeah, he's making circles around, looking for you. I almost got caught by him."

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. It's not your fault. Stupid vulture."

* * *

**The Article**

* * *

"I'm kind of disappointed to be honest," Harry told Bruce. "I mean we've known each other for six years, and have been disappearing off together for just as long, and they're only _now_ making this claim?"

Bruce glanced at the cover of the Gotham Enquirer again. A large photo of Harry and Bruce sneaking out of a party together was splayed across the page, with three more, smaller pictures of similar instances underneath, and one of Oliver Queen's black eye and broken nose. Above all four photographs was the question '**_Is Love in the Air in Gotham's Elite?_**' in large bold letters and in slightly smaller letters beneath it was '**_Wayne and Potter leave together all the time, says close friend._**' and '**_Wayne defends lovers' honor._**'

"Close friend?"

"Hermione's looking into it."

"I pity the person when she finds them." Bruce had been on the wrong side of Hermione Granger's temper once, and he never wanted to be again.

"So do I. You know what could have prevented this?" Harry gestured to the Enquirer.

"You not dating that asshole from Starling City?"

"You not punching Oliver in the face like a jealous lover," Harry said. "And it was only one date."

"He wasn't good enough for you anyway," Bruce grumbled.

"It's hard enough to get a date with Hermione chasing people off. I don't need you to do it too." Bruce mumbled something Harry didn't hear.

"I'm sorry? Did you just say you wanted me to start doing it to you?"

"What? No! Don't you dare." Harry already had his phone out and dialed.

"Hi, Selina? How'd you like to go to lunch?"

"Harry!" Bruce reached for the phone, but Harry danced out of his reach.

"Great! See you there! Bye."

"I'm going to kill you," Bruce said, lunging for Harry.

Harry dodged out of the way, "No, what you're going to do is stop interfering in my love life, or I'm going to start interfering in yours, starting by telling Selina about that French supermodel that you took to the opera more than once."

"That's not fair."

"Yeah, well I'm not going to try punching Selina in the face because she'd kick my ass."

* * *

**Fundraiser**

* * *

Harry sent Mrs. Alexander looking for Bruce in another part of the room, and then entered into the closet after Bruce.

"So apparently dating Selina doesn't help with the old biddies," Harry said with a grin on his face.

"Not funny," Bruce muttered.

"Don't you want to meet her son? He's very nice," Harry said.

"I will punch you."

"I'll tell Hermione on you. And Selina."

"And I'll tell Daphne. You know how she feels about tattlers."

"Not nearly as bad as what she feels about people who threaten to punch her boyfriend," Harry informed him cheerfully.

A knock sounded on the door. "Boys," Daphne said. "Selina and I want to dance. Get out here."

"You know if you ever break up with her, she's going to kill you right?"

"You'll make sure my eulogy is properly awe-inspiring if that happens, right?"

Bruce laughed, "Only if you do the same for me."

"Deal."

"Bo-oys," Daphne said, knocking on the door again.

"Now let's go before she kicks the door in and drags us out by our ears," Harry said.

* * *

The Charity Ball took place before Bruce was Batman, and the Museum Gala took place shortly after Bruce became Batman.

Yes, Selina is Selina Kyle, and Daphne is Daphne Greengrass. The Weasley brother can be whichever one your imagination wants it to be.

As always, I am accepting prompts, however, I am not accepting prompts through reviews. If you wish to give me a prompt, please see the Accepting Prompts section of my profile for instructions. Thank you.

I. H. Scribe


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